


Roots

by rizcriz



Series: tumblr is dying time to get compiling [21]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 12:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16954263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/pseuds/rizcriz
Summary: "Either I'm high, or there's literally a tree growing out of my arm."





	Roots

“What did you do?!” Margo cries out from her place next to the coffee table, curled up with her arm hugged tight to her chest. She hefts herself up over the table to glare at Quentin, “You absolute baffoon, what did you  _do_?!” 

He’s pressed up against the bookshelves, head digging into the door of the secret nook, where he’s holding his own arm against himself. He works his mouth open and closed for a moment, before shaking his head, dumbfounded. His eyes work around the room; Penny’s passed out by the front door, Eliot’s just now coming to on the sofa, and Alice is still unconscious on the jean chair. The sound of pounding footsteps and panicked screams above him tell him the rest of the house is starting to wake up as well.

He pulls his arm away from his chest as Eliot sits up, running a hand through his hair. Just beneath the crook of Quentins elbow, all the way down the veins of his forearm up to the palms of his hand, something that looks like a tattoo has been etched into his skin. It takes him a moment to realize what the image is, it’s still forming, swirling around under his skin, until dark black pushes up and through. A tree, maybe. It looks like branches are forming along the edges of a wide trunk, wispy and haunting. Some of the branches fade as they reach the edges of his arm, disappearing before they wrap around his flesh.

Taking a deep breath, he pushes himself up to sit straight against the bookshelf with his good arm. He looks across the room, to Eliot, who’s frowning down at his own arm. Quentin’s gaze follows down the strands of hair dangling in front of Eliot’s face, down his chest and shoulders, to the dark shape forming on his arm. His is on the opposite side, the left, where Quentin’s is on the right, but it looks almost like the same image. A large, ancient looking tree.

Eliot looks up, clears his throat, “Either I’m really fucking high, or there’s a tree literally growing out of my arm.”

Margo groans, forcing herself up, “You’re both, babe,” She mutters, moving to sit up against the edge of the couch. “You’re really fucking high, and our dear, beloved dumb ass, Quentin, fucked up a spell.”

Eliot groans, eyes darting across the room to land on Quentin. “What’d you do?”

Quentin works his jaw for a moment before sighing dejectedly. “I don’t know,” He finally murmurs. “I - I don’t think this was me.” Because despite the coinsidental timing, there’s no way Quentin’s powerful enough to accidentally knock everyone in the cottage out, and send them writing around on the ground in pain. As much as he’d like to be that powerful, he’s not naive enough to think he actually is.

“Babes, I was there,” Margo scoffs, shaking her head as she reaches up to take Eliot’s hand. “You were doing a spell, then all the lights went out, everyone except you and me passed out. And then wham, bam, thank you ma’am, we’re all flopping around on the ground in agony.” 

Frowning, Quentin looks down at her arm. He tilts his head, points at it with his good arm. “You don’t have a tree,” He says. He and Eliot have the same image, and if the spell hit everyone in the house, it only makes sense for them all the have the same thing forming on their arms. But, Margo disproves that. So nothing makes sense.

In typical Brakebills fashion.

She looks down at the picture still forming, “Huh,” She breathes, “Guess I don’t.”

Eliot peeks over the edge of the couch, eyebrows furrowed curiously. “What’d you get?”  

“A raven. Or a crow.” She shakes her head, grimacing, “Some kind of stupid bird.”

Suddenly Penny sits up, groaning in pain and rubbing at his head. Quentin flinches as Penny works his way to his feet, stumbling through to the living room to point an angry, shaking finger at Quentin. “You -,” He trails off, staggering backwards, eyes going cross as he catches sight of the image on his extended arm. “Why the  _fuck_  do I have a  _rabbit_  on my arm?” He growls, eyes flickering across the room to glare at Quentin again.

Seriously, why does everyone always blame Quentin? It’s not like he’s some all powerful magician - okay. He is. But not the kind of all powerful magicians that can do whatever they all think he’s done. He’d just been doing his  _homework_ , for fucks sake.

Eliot sits up, “Ooh, a rabbit? I wanna see!” He forces himself to his feet, grabbing Penny’s arm to look at it. “Awe. You’ve got a cute little bunny,” He smirks up at Penny, “Good luck trying to convince people you’re a bad ass with  _that_  on your arm.” He lets go of his arm and sits back down, head flopping back to rest on the back of the couch. “I think I’ll name him Humper.”

“You mean  _Thumper_ ,” Margo corrects, reaching up to rub his leg.

He shakes his head, lifts it just enough to eye them all smugly. “No. I mean Humper.”

Penny grits his teeth, but before he can reply, Alice wakes up with a startling gasp, sobbing as she clutches her arm to her chest. “Jesus Christ!” They watch her, waiting for her to settle down as she clamps her jaw shut, glaring down at the image forming on her arm. Eliot sits up, tilts his head curiously as Margo lifts her head, trying to see over the table what’s forming on her arm.

When Alice finally takes a steadying breath, and pulls her arm from her chest to look down at it, Margo asks, “So? What’d you get? Songbird? Maybe a kitten,” She turns her head to Eliot, “I could see her with a kitten.”

“She is pretty catty,” Eliot agrees with a nod. “Kitten makes sense.” He turns his attention back on Alice. “Well? Is it a pretty little pus -,”

“Jesus,” Penny groans, “Really, man?”

Alice swallows, “It’s a - a fox.”

Which - okay, could totally make everyone think this is somehow his doing because of Brakebills south and everything, but damn it, he’s innocent. Even if things do keep getting weirder. And seem to point more directly at him.

Margo’s brow quirks, as her eyes slide across the room towards him. “Isn’t that -,”

“Guys!” Todd comes racing down the stairs flushed and red. “ _Guys_!” Quentin allows himself a small breath of relief as Margo’s eyes drift over as todd slides into the living room, grabbing onto the couch to stop himself, and grinning at them frantic, and lost. “I think someone cast like an emotion spell or something!” He holds out his arm, where a bushel of flowers flow up his arm, petals floating off and over the edges of the skin, where they wrap around.

Is there even some kind of theme connecting all of these fucking tattoos? Because is damn sure that he has nothing to do with flowers. He squares his shoulders up against the bookshelf, turning his gaze on Margo, ready to point out that this is absolutely proof that he can’t be behind this because he barely even knows Todd and there’s no reason he’d have flowers.

“What do you mean?” Alice asks before Quentin can even open his mouth.

Todd thrusts his arm closer to Penny, holding it up to him, wild eyed. “Flowers. Hello! Nature. Emotions are directly linked with nature - haven’t you been paying attention in Sunderlands class?” He shakes his head, giddy, “This is so cool!”

“Why is this ‘ _so cool_?’” Margo demands, pushing herself up so she’s sitting straight against the couch and narrowing her eyes at him. “My arm is literally still burning, I have a bruise forming on my ass - and not the good kind of bruise. The kind of I collapsed on the ground and there was no sex involved kind of bruise,  _Todd_.”

Eliot raises a hand, leaning forward between them, “Yeah, she doesn’t like getting non-sex related bruises. Fucks with her whole aesthetic.”

Todd sighs, anxiously moving around the couch and sitting down up against the arm rest. Eliot eyes him warily. “Okay, calm down. You have magic, you can heal the bruise!” He flinches as Margo narrows his eyes. “Look, this is the coolest thing to happen since I got here and you guys are mad about bruises! I don’t mean to intrude on your friendly gossip - or whatever the super secret stuff you guys do is, but this is something we’ve learned about.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, man?” And for once in his life, Quentin can’t help but to agree with Penny.

Todd grins up at Penny, holding his arm out in front of him. “Soul mate magic, dude!” His smile falls a bit as he tilts his head, “I mean. I think. Sunderland said something about nature magic and soul mates and … I kind of zoned out. Zoe was casting a spell under her desk, it was … it was amazing.” His eyes glaze over as he looks down at Margo, “You’ve met her, haven’t you? i think you guys -,”

“Todd!” Eliot exclaims, snapping his fingers in front of Todds face, “Focus!”

Todd shakes his head and looks at him. “Right. Sorry. So - magic. Soul mates. Nature. Emotions. It’s all linked. Somebody who’s like, emotionally torn or something, cast a nature spell wrong, and somehow made all of us physically linked to our soul mates. I think.” He shoots up from the couch, grin returning, “Oh my god. I need to see if Zoe and I are soul mates!” Before anyone can even ask anything else, he darts out of the room and through the front door, presumably, in search of the mysterious Zoe.

So much for Quentin not being at fault for this. Fuck.

“Who the fuck is Zoe?”

Margo waves a hand, turning her glare on Quentin. “Unimportant. Todd was just useful for once.” She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes, “Because this means Quentin’s definitely the reason we were all flopping around like a load idiotic fish.”

And okay, based on what Todd said, she’s probably right. But. “ _How_? I was doing class work -,”

“I mean, your form  _was_  off,” Alice murmurs, and he turns his gaze on her feeling both thankful and mildly offended. “But so much so that you altered reality and everybodies physical bodies? I don’t think so.” Quentin furrows his brow and she shrugs. “You’re not powerful enough.”

 _Ha! Also, ow._ He makes a face and looks down at his arm in his lap. It’s one thing to think it about him himself, but it’s something else entirely for somebody else to confirm it.

“So, Todd’s wrong,” Eliot mutters, pushing up from the couch with a wince and heading towards the bar. “Shocker.”

“Todd could be right. Just. Not entirely.”

Margo sighs, pushing herself up from the floor and sliding onto the couch where Eliot had been sitting. Her elbow finds the arm rest and her fingers tick at her hairline, “So. If we don’t know why - even though I’m still low-key blaming Quentin - then can we figure out what the fuck these things mean?” She flips her other arm up, over her lap so the bird is facing up. “I mean. Are we saying my soulmate is a creepy bird lover? Because we all know El and I are platonic soulmates and neither of us -,”

“I don’t think it’s about the image itself,” Alice interrupts, sitting up properly, “Maybe more about what it represents. And - maybe it’s not about soulmates at all. It could just be emotions.”

Eliot quirks a brow as he gathers the items needed to create his signature cocktail. “So,” He says, grabbing one of the bottle, “You think we’re all wearing our hearts quite literally on our sleeves?” He scoffs, popping the lid on the bottle with a roll of his eyes. “Please, Alice. I truly doubt the physical manifestation of my inner emotions is a tree.” His eyes dart across the room to Quentin, “And in what world are Quentin and I on the same wavelength emotionally?”

“I mean, you two are the only ones that have matching -,”

“I don’t give a fuck about this,” Penny interrupts, storming to the center of the room, “And neither should you guys. Or have you fucking forgotten we have to figure out what to do with the beast? Or is that something we’re just going to abandon to figure out what our stupid magical tattoos mean?”

Alice shrugs one shoulder. “It’s an intriguing mystery -,”

“Let’s just get back to the beast stuff,” Quentin murmurs, pushing himself up and nodding at Penny. “The sooner we figure out a way to deal with the beast, the sooner we can deal with everything else. Imminent death verses mysterious tattoos - I mean. Which one’s more important you guys? Because I don’t know about you, but I really don’t feel like dying.” Not genuinely, at least, he thinks.

Margo and Alice watch them silently, until Eliot shakes the container behind them. They turn to look at him and he shrugs, smirking. “Thought we’d all like a drink. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to replace this burning,” He holds up his arm, the tree facing them all, “With the kind only the best alcohol can provide. Come along, I’ve made enough for everyone.” He grins, widening his eyes as he looks back down and starts pouring the drink into the glasses.

Penny looks at Quentin. “I’m not -,”

“Yeah, I know,” He growls, before grabbing Penny’s wrist and nodding. “Let’s go.” His eyes dart across the room as Penny nods, making eye contact for a brief second with Eliot before he and Penny are suddenly in the Brakebills library.  There’s something in his gaze that follows them, that Quentin tries to shake off as they start digging through books looking for an answer to defeat the beast.

But, even if the words keep disappearing and getting replaced by Eliot’s eyes, Quentin is sure that Todd’s wrong. Nobody in that room is his soulmate.

 


End file.
